


The good old days (English Translation)

by One who Is All (crazykoala)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, English translation, Gen, Introspection, Pre-Reboot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6734443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazykoala/pseuds/One%20who%20Is%20All
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst thing about the suit is the cape. <em>(The worst thing about the suit is that he has to wear it because Bruce is dead.)<em></em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The good old days (English Translation)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [The good old days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865907) by [Malale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malale/pseuds/Malale). 



> Hey there! Please excuse any mistakes, since I'm not 100% fluent in Spanish, and I took some artistic license when translating due to language differences. You can check out the original above (if you speak Spanish). Enjoy!

 

The worst thing about the suit is the cape. He’s not used to the layers of Kevlar that act like a dead weight, restricting the agility of his movements and his usual acrobatic fighting style.

 

_ (The worst thing about the suit is that he is the one who has to wear it, because Bruce is dead; and sometimes Dick wonders if it feels so heavy because of the Kevlar or because the memories of the man who wore it before him are weighing down on his shoulders.) _

The cave is too quiet. The mansion is too quiet. He didn’t think he would ever be thinking this, but he hopes Damian will return soon from where Talia has been led to fix his back. Without the kid grumbling from every corner and with no chance of any friendly conversations with Alfred, who has gone with Damian to help, it is too quiet, and he is left alone with his thoughts.

 

_ (Tim barely speaks to him, and he can’t blame him. He abandoned him when he needed it most and told him again and again that there was nothing he could do. He had his hands too full with Damian, Gotham, and the damned cape to deal with Tim. It was all he could have done to let him go and hope that he was right about Tim being ready to fly solo.) _

 

He ends up leaving the cowl and the cape (shroud) on the floor, and sits in front of the multiple screens, running his hands over his face and his hair trying to clear his head. It’s better than the injuries he got from fighting Jason and Flamingo, but he’s still too tired; as if he has been drained inside.

 

_ (What drains him is when Jason drives him to a level of anger that few criminals have ever achieved, but what is left of Jason remains lost, like it’s sinking in concrete. Jason has that effect on all of them; he destroys a little bit inside of all of them every time they try to reach him and he escapes them by their fingertips. Sometimes the red hood outweighs the grave of the little soldier who died somewhere during his resurrection.)  _

 

He can’t take the thoughts from their heads and force them to voice them, and the silence doesn’t help. He still has things to do, to check. Even if it’s insane. Jason’s voice as Gordon’s agents took him away still resonates in his head, spurring him on. He has to try.

 

It still doesn’t take away the guilt, though, and it doesn’t prove anything to Todd.

 

But he looks at the cape lying on the floor and feels a tug within his stomach, weighing down on his whole body; he crouches down and picks it up anyway. And holding it in his hands weighs a thousand pounds more on his soul. 

 

He sighs, exhausted. The silence in the Batcave is killing him, and he thinks about calling Babs, but suppresses the urge because calling her means talking, and talking will completely finish his resolve to keep it together; to not break down and talk about the futility he feels about the position he’s in, about how Tim won’t talk to him and how he’s already responsible for giving his Robin a mortal wound in the short time they’ve worked together (new record), and Barbara will probably listen even though talking about someone getting shot in the back still makes her feel like vomiting, and the conversation will end with him needing to see her in person when he should be spending the hours on the trapeze, but he’s Batman (Bruce) now, and he was never able to make empty promises to Barbara.

 

__ _ (His worst nightmare as a child was that this responsibility would mean another death, another parent lost. Now it’s his worst nightmare because it means flying without a safety net. Not that he could die, but that others could.)  _

 

He closes his fists forcefully around the cowl, distorting the face of the bat. He’s not sure why, but he’s reminded of the recent memorial. He walks toward the rows of display cases, trying unsuccessfully not to drag the cape (shroud). His suit, old and old-fashioned, stands out beside Jason’s, which is rumpled but unpolluted. Despite the glass, it still carries the smell of blood and gunpowder.

 

_ (He wonders if Bruce used it to remind himself every day of the price they could pay if he failed and doesn’t understand how he could look at it every day and still go out and fight. How twisted he had to be to put a finger in the wound and scratch it until it bled again.)  _

 

He placed a hand on the glass and looked at his shorter, much lighter yellow cape, which didn’t tangle around his legs. The nostalgia hits him like a physical blow, and he doesn’t really understand why. He’d never looked at his uniform this way. With Jason’s, always, and Steph’s too for quite some time, but never his. He could barely stand to look at Tim’s when Alfred placed it here with the others. 

 

But never with his own.

 

_ (It might be because he had never really fully removed the entire Robin costume. But he can’t believe it, because that would mean that Jason was right in saying that they replaced him and he already feels so guilty for what he has done, what he hasn’t done, and what he will do. It would mean that he would have to carry the burden that they had put on Jason’s shoulders, and on Tim’s, without knowing it. _

 

_ It feels heavy, much more now that he carries the weight of replacing someone already considered perfect on his shoulders.)  _

 

He sighs one last time, removing his hand from the glass, and hangs Batman’s cape against the cabinet. He doesn’t want to look at his old costume today, or to reminisce about better times long past. He hopes the weight won’t break the glass, because he’s not going to bend down to pick it up. He has to stand firm and unmoving in this role, to lead no matter what and do whatever it takes.

  
Because Dick was the only Robin who chose to remove the “R” from his chest, so he’s the only one who no longer has the right to take the mantle of the bat.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic. Have a nice day!


End file.
